The Wrath of Harry Potter
by akela95
Summary: What if Harry were more of a real boy than the emasculated, girl-in-disguise that JKR fobs off as canon. A 5th yr AU following the what-if? premise.


**Disclaimer: If anyone thinks I'm pretending to be JKR, I will bitch-smack them 'till they learn better!**

**AN: I update extremely slowly. DO NOT get your hopes up for fast updates. I do this to try to produce quality chapters. Any formatting mistakes can be attributed to my lack of familiarity with the upload process. This chapter is un-beta'ed.**

**Rated M: For Violence, Language and adult situations**

**Prologue**

"Gather 'round, my darlings. As I promised, tonight's story's going to be about the greatest of our kind, the measure by which we now live—the Wand-Saint!"

At this exuberant proclamation, an extremely old woman made her way into the den and shuffled her way through the dozen or so squealing children of varying races playing in the room. What was immediately apparent to the most casual observer was the exceptional scale of the old woman. Though stooped by age, the woman—looking at least in her eighties—clearly topped six feet in height and no doubt towered even higher in her prime. She carried a tattered knitting bag and leaned on a cane as the four-to-seven year-olds scrambled gleefully to their favorite spots for the night's story. A fond smile made its way across her laughter-creased, ebony face as she watched her charges jostle for pride of place beside her preferred seat. Looking at the eager faces turned up to her, she settled her aching bones into a comfortable recliner beside the fireplace as the children sat cross-legged at her Converse-clad feet.

"Is the Wand-Saint Merlin, Grandmama?" asked an adorable pixie of a five year-old.

"Oh no, my dear, not Merlin. This wizard was borne to his rest long after the time of the Ancient One. I was just a little girl when I witnessed the State Procession that carried his funeral bier, and those of his beloveds, to their family cemetery. Young as I was, I knew that his name would rise higher than Merlin's." At this, her eyes grew misty in remembrance and her next words came more softly. "My generation was weaned on tales of the Great Hero and his Coven. Of the doughty band of warriors they formed and led into battle against the first of the Dreadlords of the Dark—the Despised One, Voldemort. My own Family founder was one of those very warriors! She was one of the fighters who held The Line in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was bittersweet when we all realized that, with their passing, it was the end of an era—our Golden Era."

"In his long life, he was known by many names: the extinct Dementors were the first to know the fury of….The Blackhart," Grandmama solemnly informed her young audience.

"Was he a bad man, Grandmama?" piped a hazel-eyed blonde with a crew-cut. "Why was his heart black?"

"The Dementors called him that after the power the Great Hero wielded to teach them to fear him, Nicholas," replied Grandmama firmly. She raised an admonishing finger. "When you go to Hogwarts, young one, you will learn of the horrid Dementors and why they were such fearsome creatures. Then, you will learn why a Dementor's fear is such a powerful thing."

"He earned the respect of the Blood Nation, those beings who are more commonly called vampires, and they hailed him as Bloodwind," continued the old storyteller, leaning back into her seat.

"The Bloodwind! The Bloodwind!" cheered a pale skinned, raven haired six year-old with particularly pointed teeth, bouncing on the cushion under him.

"Yes, Damien. I'm sure your grandfather, Khakistos, has told you many times about their first meeting and the adventures they had but _do_ try to keep the surprise a bit longer." This with an indulgent smile at the true-born vampire Prince in her charge."

"The Goblin Horde still reveres him as Shavik Kuvar—the Wrath of Steel! He was the first man to be honored as a goblin-friend in our shared history and the reason why there hasn't been a Goblin Rebellion in more than five hundred years. Shavik Kuvar and his beloveds brought respect and humility to the wizarding world with their reforms. You can see it everyday but in those times, Goblins and other Magical beings had little reason to be pleased with wizards."

The children were entranced now at the slow build up that Grandmama was weaving with her tale, their mouths open unheeded and eyes wide.

"Giants, what few are left, still teach their children to watch the heavens for fear of Skyhammer."

"Is that a spell he invented, Grandmama?" asked an auburn-haired girl in pig-tails. "Did he make hammers fall from the sky?"

"Child," answered Grandmama with an amused glint in her eye, "he…_was_…Skyhammer!"

Grandmama continued amidst the awed "Oohh's" coming from the children. "The werewolf Packs used to tread softly whenever they knew that the Warwolf was even in the same territory. To this day, two things keep them faithful to the Pax Lunaris—the very memory of him and the knowledge that his Pack still walks this earth…"

She cut off at the disbelieving exclamation of one of the older kids, a husky, brown-haired tyke with a mischievous grin.

"Him!? Tonight's story is finally going to be about the Great Alpha?"

"I knew you'd enjoy that, Sirius Lupin III," smiled Grandmama, "especially since you're part of his Pack."

"You're related to the Wand-Saint, Sirius?" echoed up from the gathered crowd of kids but Grandmama quickly settled them.

"A werewolf Pack isn't always related by blood, children," explained Grandmama. "As social creatures, the wolf within a werewolf will try to reach out to others of his kind but it will use its human intelligence to decide who can be suitable Packmates for it."

"Young Sirius belongs to the newest Pack in the world—the Ahroun—who were founded by the Great Hero himself, and his friend, Remus Lupin, who was Sirius' ancestor. This is remarkable because the Great Hero wasn't even a werewolf!"

"Then how could he found a Pack?" asked Nicholas.

"Care to explain, Sirius?" redirected Grandmama, smiling.

"After becoming the Warwolf by killing Fenrir Greyback, he went on to try to cure Lycanthropy, but Lycanthropy is a Curse not a disease," put in Sirius, emphasizing the capital. "Magic, ancient Earth Magic. Even he couldn't undo the magic of the planet itself, so he just changed it!"

"He was powerful enough to change the magic of the whole world!?" interrupted Sarah, the red-head in pig-tails.

"Once you start a change, it's easy to keep it going," said Grandmama sagely. "You just have to start small and keep feeding it. You'll learn that in Magical Theory in Hogwarts."

"In the end, the Warwolf couldn't stop werewolves from changing so he saved us from the madness," continued Sirius. "Werewolves could now keep their human minds while changed and we started to notice that the few true-born werewolves had even greater control of themselves when they changed. People still didn't trust werewolves so we began to pick fellow werewolves as mates. As more true-borns mated, our self-control grew with each new generation but we still kept faithful to the Ways of the Wolf. Because none of us would, or even could, challenge the Warwolf, by spell or claw, he became our Alpha by acclamation."

"But he wasn't a werewolf!" objected a five year-old brunette in a ponytail, "was he?"

Sirius and Grandmama shared a look. "Though he wasn't a real werewolf, the Beast was very strong in him, and after all, none of the Pack could match him," answered Grandmama cryptically.

Sirius became the focus of the other children again as they looked to him to continue his account of his Pack's history. His face darkened as he recalled the stories he had been told by his sire. "Anyway, while we kept our minds during the change, the Elder werewolves couldn't let go of their resentment of humans. They spit on the Ways of the Wolf and began the Pack Wars with the Second Dreadlord, Malsangre, a thaumaturge from Spain."

"They weren't stupid enough to start trouble in Ahroun territory but they were unchallenged on the continent….until they killed Remus Lupin." Grandmama now took over the narrative.

"Enraged at the murder of the last link to his parents, the Wand-Saint became the Alpha of The Isles, drawing on that ancient Earth Magic and increasing the power of the werewolves loyal to him. Together, they hunted down each and every werewolf even remotely involved in Remus Lupin's death. They decimated several Packs and sealed the Pax Lunaris by tearing apart the last feral Elder during the first Great Ingathering of the Packs. Now, despite being the youngest Pack, the Ahroun are the most respected—and feared—Pack in all the world. The gifts of Earth and Moon are strong in them and all the other Packs toe the line because they know the Ahroun will enforce the Concords of Non-Aggression at a moment's notice, the way their Alpha of The Isles once did."

Looking at the rapt faces turned towards her, Grandmama smiled and took pity, deciding to get to the start of tonight's story.

"You see, children, the Races of Magic gave the Wand-Saint many names over the years, but before the ascendance of the Warwolf, before the coming of the Bloodwind or the forging of Shavik Kuvar, before Skyhammer, he was simply The-Boy-Who-Lived."

"Listen children, as I tell you the true tale of the rise of Harry Potter…."

--fragmentary holovid of the renowned Songsage Vanessa "Grandmama" Johnson, dated approximately 2534, recovered from the excavation of the ruins of The Second Great Library in New Alexandria, circa 3579


End file.
